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Michael may run the ops, but he does not run me. Not this time. He said his last statement with finality, but for me this conversation is over when I say it’s over. Something has been bothering me for the longest time. I’ve always wondered how far he would’ve let things go with us had he not been able to get John so quickly. I figure, while the cards are on the table, and he’s already angry with me, why not go all the way?

“How far were you willing to go with us, Michael?”

There’s conviction in my voice. He’s going to answer my questions. One way or another. He stops, looking up at me with his steely blue eyes. The green is almost nonexistent, telling me he’s furious. His eyes get a deep blue hue when he’s angry. Not to mention the tick in his jaw as he clenches his teeth together. I stare at him not caring that I struck a nerve. I will stare straight into those blue eyes, that are as deep as the ocean, for as long as it takes for him to answer. It seems like forever that he just stares at me, unwavering. Of course, it’s seconds only and I feel as if I’m drowning.

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